Frater
by shallowz
Summary: Part of the Latin Series. Scott and Johnny work out some rules.


Warnings/Spoilers: Alternate Reality

Disclaimer: We don't own Lancer or any of the characters, nor do we make a profit when we play with them.

Thanks to Con for betaing, and Ronnie for the moral support!

~o~0~o~

_**October 26, 1866**_

Scott found Spanish Wells dusty and sparse, but thriving just like some of the other Western towns he had come across during his journey to Lancer. Compton's General Store was a good case in point as it was a literal beehive of activity on this Thursday afternoon.

"Come on, Scott," Johnny called as he weaved his way through the crowded shelves and headed out of the mercantile. "Murdoch, we'll meet you at the saloon." With a wave he was out the door and hopping off the boardwalk.

"Saloon?" Scott glanced up at Murdoch for confirmation.

Murdoch, list in hand, threw him a distracted, faraway look. "Believe it or not, I met your brother in such a place."

"Good story?"

"It has its moments," Murdoch, back in the present, grinned and gave a nod towards the door. "Buy us some beers and only a beer for Johnny. I'll meet you there once I've settled up."

Curious now, Scott headed over to the saloon, and was about to enter through the swinging doors when he heard Johnny speaking, and what made him pause was Johnny's tone of voice; one he had never heard his brother use. That and the place had that 'could hear a pin drop' quality.

"Hey, Claremont, thought you'd be dead by now."

"Thought the same of you, Madrid. I know Rufus wasn't happy with you."

His heart thudding painfully in his chest, Scott suddenly understood what he was hearing.

"Yeah, you traveled with him some, right?" Johnny was all soft drawl, and edges. "You don't usually travel alone… you don't actually do much of anythin' alone."

That was all Scott needed to hear before he ran back to his horse to retrieve his rifle. Taking a deep breath, he strolled into the saloon with his rifle resting on his shoulder and walked right through the confrontation taking place.

Without paying any attention to the rawboned man called Claremont, Scott called to the bartender, "Three beers, please." Then looking over his shoulder, he said, "Johnny?"

The bartender, who Scott knew to be Josiah Whitcomb, originally from Ohio, looked at him like he had lost his mind.

"Be there in a minute, Scott," Johnny called back without taking his eyes off Claremont.

With an expectant look, Scott turned his attention to Claremont and simply waited as he dropped the rifle in the crook of his arm.

Claremont's eyes narrowed as he noted Scott's position and the rifle he carried.

"You really wantin' that beer?" Johnny asked with a grin. Scott inclined his head.

"I'm thirsty and I don't believe the bartender is inclined to serve us until Mr. Claremont is… well, gone."

With a slight shrug, Johnny shifted to a deceptively casual stance. "Rufus isn't worth the effort you're puttin' into this. I didn't kill him."

Thoughtful, Claremont gave them all another long look. "Guess you might be right. If I find out differently, I'll find you again."

"Then I won't be seein' you around," Johnny said calmly, and Scott's mouth twitched appreciating the ambiguousness of his brother's statement.

Picking up his drink, Claremont finished it before heading out of the saloon.

After the swinging doors finished their sway, the saloon burst into activity again.

~o~0~o~

Johnny wasn't sure if he should be angry or laugh at what just happened. He had never had someone backing him like that before. Seeing Scott walking right through the place, between he and Claremont, had almost caused him to swallow his tongue.

His eastern brother didn't have an understanding of what he had walked into. He stared at Scott's back as his brother eased himself into a comfortable position by the bar.

As if sensing someone had eyes on him, Scott looked over his shoulder; his expression completely unrepentant and letting Johnny know that his brother was more than aware of what he had done.

That easily nudged anger over humor into the stronger emotion.

With quick, sharp strides he was by Scott's side and forcing his brother to look at him. "Don't ever get in the middle of a situation like that again." He kept his voice low and only for Scott to hear. This was their business, no one else needed to share in it. "Do you understand?"

Scott looked down at Johnny's hand gripping his arm, and then met Johnny's eyes. "No."

"Whadda you mean, no?"

Mirroring Johnny's grip with one of his own, Scott smiled just a little, but it wasn't due to humor. "It means that if I see you in trouble, I'm going to do something about it."

"I wasn't in trouble. I could've handled it without you." _Please see that_.

"Yes, I see that now."

Okay, maybe now they were getting somewhere. "So, you'll stay out of it?"

"No."

Punching a brother was bad, right? No matter how justified. Before he could say anything, Scott continued.

"I see it now, Johnny, but how would I know before the fact?"

"You have to trust that I know what I'm doin', and I do know what I'm doin'."

"I don't doubt that, but you believe I don't know what I'm doing?"

Johnny's anger leached away. "Not in this, no, you don't."

Nodding, Scott let go of Johnny's arm and faced the bar; dislodging Johnny's grip too. "So, if I'm in situation where I can handle it myself, you'll stay out of it. Fair is fair after all."

Scott may not know how to herd cattle yet, but the same couldn't be said with words. His brother had neatly penned Johnny in.

"It's not the same thing, Scott."

No, Johnny wasn't going to wiggle his way out with that look aimed at him.

Worse yet, he knew Scott was right. Johnny would bull his way into the middle of any situation if he thought Scott was in trouble, and it wouldn't matter if he thought Scott could handle it or not.

"Okay, it's the same thing. Just don't want you gettin' hurt for somethin' from my past."

"No more than I want you getting hurt for something I'm doing in the present."

Gazing down at the mug of beer, Johnny murmured, "I'm not use to this, Scott."

Shifting to lean his elbows on the bar, Scott studied his own beer. "Neither am I, Johnny."

"Could you do me a favor though if this ever happens again?"

"If I can."

"Don't walk through the middle of it. I don't mind you backin' me, and I do mean from _behind_ me, not strollin' through the middle like that. If that hadn't been Claremont, who isn't quick to shoot, you would have caught one right off just for comin' in. Another gunfighter would have used that second you were in front of him to take the advantage."

Tilting his head, Scott gave Johnny a look he couldn't interpret. "I'll compromise: How about if I stand beside you?"

Johnny couldn't figure out how they had reached the point where they were negotiating potential gunfights, but he couldn't say that he minded the result.

"Deal, Brother."

~The End~


End file.
